


It Only Takes a Taste (When You Know It's Good)

by shakespeareandsunshine



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Coworkers AU, Day 5, M/M, SKAM Fic Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-16 18:01:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11834070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shakespeareandsunshine/pseuds/shakespeareandsunshine
Summary: It would be bad enough if it was just some mystery coworker stealing meals from the office fridge. Then Isak could hate their anonymous ass in peace. But no, Isak has a very good idea who the culprit is. And seeing the villain in the breakroom every day, smiling at Isak like he has nothing to apologize for was testing Isak's very limited patience. And also probably his self-control, although for an entirely different reason.AKA My entry for Skam Fic Week Day 5 - Coworkers AU





	It Only Takes a Taste (When You Know It's Good)

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to the best GC out there for being the awesome cheerleaders they are, and double thanks to Immy for letting me know when I get too over the top (which is always). Also, I suppose I should thank that asshole at work who inspired this fic by stealing my last muffin despite the fact that I hd my name written all over it AND baked a separate batch for my coworkers to share. Without you, this fic would never have come to be, so I guess you da real MVP... but next time? Keep your grubby muffin-stealing hands TO YOSELF
> 
> (Title from "It Only Takes a Taste" from Waitress the Musical)

In retrospect, Isak thinks he may have overreacted, just a little. 

Then again, maybe not. Stealing is a crime after all, and theft is theft, regardless of the item stolen. 

“It’s a fucking sandwich, Isak, not a work of art,” Jonas sighs, not even looking up from the quarterly report he’s typing up on the practically prehistoric office computer. This is not the first time they've had this conversation. “It's hardly punishable in a court of law.”

“My sandwiches _are_ a work of art, fuck you very much,” Isak retorts. Today's sandwich was a cross between a kebab and a New York-style sub. Isak called it the Turkish Torpedo and it was a fucking masterpiece, even if the name was a work in progress. A masterpiece that’s now gone. Eaten. By someone other than Isak. 

It would be bad enough if it was just some mystery coworker stealing meals from the office fridge. Then Isak could hate their anonymous ass in peace. But no, Isak has a very good idea who the culprit is. And seeing the villain in the breakroom every day, smiling at Isak like he has nothing to apologize for was testing Isak's very limited patience. And also probably his self-control, although for an entirely different reason. 

See, Isak had been eating lunch at his desk one day, catching up on work like a responsible adult, and not like a sadsack office drone with no life or friends, _thank you Eskild,_ when _he_ walked by. Isak seldom saw him outside of interdepartmental meetings, which was a crying shame, but at least the sight of the guy’s gravity defying hair and frankly outstanding ass made the ridiculously tedious meetings somewhat more bearable. 

So it was a surprise, a pleasant surprise, but a surprise nonetheless, when _he_ stopped by Isak's cubicle for a chat. 

“Isak, right?” he asked, leaning against the cubicle wall with all the cool of a young James Dean, if young James Dean was also secretly a giraffe who worked for the Norwegian branch of Dunder Mifflin. 

Isak was so taken aback that the hot James Dean giraffe doppelgänger knew his name that all he could do was nod, dumbly. Giraffe Man didn't seem to mind. Instead, he smiled, so warmly that Isak could have sworn the sun brightened about ten degrees in competition. 

“I’m so glad I found you,” he said. “I’ve been trying to track you down for ages, ever since---”

Whatever the man was about to say next was cut off as Isak's sandwich, a triple-decker monstrosity positively drenched in Eskild’s borderline illegal special sauce, finally gave up its fight against the inevitable and collapsed in a somewhat soggy heap. Isak watched in dismay as his sandwich soaked through his notes, rendering them unreadable. 

“I don't think those papers are salvageable,” the man said, lips twitching with restrained laughter. “I'm so sorry.” 

“Me too,” Isak said mournfully. “I was really enjoying that sandwich.”

The man actually did laugh at that, and Isak immediately decided to make him laugh again, by any means possible. 

“It did look like a fantastic sandwich,” the man agreed. “Did you make it?”

“Please,” Isak scoffed. “As if you could just _buy_ a sandwich that intense. Of course I made it. Three different meats, two cheeses, and enough spice to obliterate the taste buds of your average white-dude palette. I call it the Triple Threat.”

“I'm impressed,” the man said. “Of course, the real question is, did you put any mayo on the bread?”

Isak didn’t even try to hide his disgust. “Of course not. Why would I ruin a perfectly good sandwich like that?”

“Not ruin,” the man protested, holding his hands out, as if to appease Isak’s condiment induced wrath. “Enhance. Mayonnaise adds creaminess. It's the secret to all great sandwiches.”

“ _Mayonnaise adds creaminess_ ,” Isak mocked. “What are you? A mayonnaise salesman?” It wasn't the greatest comeback, but the man looked to be on the verge of laughing again, and Isak was willing to sound like an idiot to keep him laughing forever.

“No, I'm Even,” the man said. He smiled, mischievous, and Isak could swear his heart stopped. “Wait here.”

Which. It’s not like Isak could go anywhere, because it was his cubicle, but still. Even reappeared moments later, brandishing a stack of paper towels and two forks. 

“I stole the last packet of paper towel from the bathroom down by accounting, so I hope it’s enough,” he said, sounding just the teeniest bit out of breath. Isak was assaulted by the sudden mental image of Even running full speed down the corridor, chased by a bunch of angry accountants with wet hands. 

“Thanks,” he said. “I appreciate you braving the wrath of Julian Dahl and his calculator for me.”

“Well, not entirely for you,” Even said, pointing his fork at Isak. “I think I need to try this mayo-less sandwich for myself before I pass judgement. You know, see if it lives up to the hype.”

And with that, he carefully slid the soggy mess that once called itself a sandwich onto the stack of paper towel. He handed one of the forks to Isak, and speared a giant chunk of sandwich with his own. 

Normally, Isak would be pissed at the way Even just took charge of his lunch like that. Lunch that he’d just blasphemed with the mention of mayonnaise for fuck’s sake. But then Even moaned around the bite of meaty, cheesy goodness he’d just taken, and Isak was too damn distracted to mind. Well, distracted and maybe just a little bit turned on, if he were the type of guy to be turned on by plush mouths and throaty moans and the tiniest flick of tongue against the plastic of the fork and holy fuck Isak needs to derail that train of thought _now._

“So?” Isak asked, not even trying to mask his smugness. “How is it?”

“It’s okay,” Even said, shoveling another bite into his mouth. 

“Just okay?” Isak drew back in mock offense. He’d pull the sandwich back too, but Even had a possessive arm thrown in front of it, and if it came down to a fight over the remains of the sandwich, Isak wasn’t sure he’d win. Not if Even continued _moaning_ like that. Sex noises while eating should be illegal. Isak should really write a letter to his representative. Workplace endangerment and all that.

“It’s better than okay, and you know it,” Even said around another mouthful of meat. At the rate he was going, there wouldn’t be any sandwich left for Isak. He quickly shoveled a forkful of saucy cheese into his mouth, before he did something stupid, like lick a drop of sauce from the corner of Even’s mouth.

“Even without mayo?” Isak asked hoarsely. Even was licking sriracha off his fingers now, and Isak could swear he was doing it on purpose. 

“Even without mayo,” Even agreed. “You'll have to teach me your art one day.”

“I don't usually share the secrets of my culinary success,” Isak said, preening. “You’ll have to convince me it’s worth my while.”

Even grinned around another forkful of food, and that was that. 

They finished the remains of the Triple Threat together before Even had to return to his cubicle. Isak never did find out what Even had come for, but it didn’t matter, because he now knew Even’s name and department and _phone number._ (“So we can set up a time for you to show off you sandwich-making skills,” Even had said, typing his number into Isak’s phone, and really, who was Isak to argue with a man in pursuit of a decent meal?)

Isak wanted to be friends. Good friends. _Best_ friends. The kind of friends who hung out after work, and went for coffee together, and gave each other blowjobs in the breakroom, as friends do. But then his sandwiches began disappearing from the fridge, and Isak was never a big believer in coincidence. 

If Even would just admit to stealing his food, or even just acknowledge the fact that he did it, Isak would forgive him. But no, Even kept texting him stupid memes every night, kept greeting Isak every morning, and then kept stealing his lunch every afternoon. The duplicity of it all was driving Isak insane.

Isak tries to explain as much to Jonas, to say something about accountability in the court of public opinion, something to make Jonas fully understand the travesty that is the sandwich theft, but is distracted by the sight of _him._ The Food Thief in the flesh. 

“Ugh, look at him,” Isak mutters. “Waltzing in here with that hair, and that tie, and that smile. Has he no shame?”

“What's wrong with Even’s smile?”

“It’s just, you know,” Isak waves his hand around vaguely. “It’s so perfect. Clearly, its hiding something.”

Jonas deigns to look up from his work in order to raise one magnificent eyebrow skeptically. “Hiding what, exactly?”

“My sandwich!” Isak says, exasperated. “Have you not been listening this entire time?”

“Not this again,” Jonas says, rolling his eyes. He turns back to his computer, resolutely. “I am no longer taking part in this conversation, Isak. But if I were, I would tell you to shut up and just fucking do something about it already.”

Which, isn’t the worst idea. Isak knows Jonas well enough to know that if Jonas could see the way Isak’s eyes lit up at the prospect of corporate espionage, he would regret ever giving Isak the idea. But Jonas is still resolutely tapping away at his keyboard, ignoring Isak and his woes, leaving him with no other choice than to plan the capture of the sandwich stealer. 

He begins laying the bait during his afternoon coffee break, sidling up to where Even is chilling in the breakroom, nursing a cup of tea. 

“Is this seat taken?” Isak asks, mouth suddenly dry. He tells himself it has everything to do with his undercover mission, and nothing to do with Even’s sudden, blinding grin. 

Even just kicks the chair out in response, and Isak sinks down onto it gratefully. Apparently his dry mouth came with the side-effect of knee liquefaction. Maybe he should see a doctor. 

“How was your day?” Isak asks, and immediately wants to kick himself. He knows how Even’s day was. They were at the same after-lunch meeting for crying out loud. 

“Better now that I’m talking to you,” Even says, his smile turning softer, and dammit, Isak almost forgives him for stealing his lunch every day this week and forcing him to eat stale vending machine potato chips instead. Almost. 

Isak catches himself smiling back, probably sappily, and shakes himself out of it. He has a mission to carry out after all. 

“So I’ve been working on a new sandwich recipe,” he says, apropos of nothing. Even doesn’t seem phased though. 

“Oh really?” he asks. “Does it have mayo in it this time?”

Isak pulls a face. “No. Mayo is still and always will be disgusting. It’s got ketchup though. You like that, right?”

“I do,” Even says, pleased. “You remembered!”

And yeah, it was something Even had only mentioned in passing, but _of course_ Isak remembered. He remembers everything Even says. It would be embarrassing if it weren’t coming in useful at the moment. 

“Does this mean I’ll finally get to try another one of your culinary wonders?” Even asks, and right, now is the time for Isak to spring the trap. 

“We’ll see,” Isak says. “I’ll be storing my sandwich in on the top shelf of the white fridge, so as long as nothing happens to it, there should be plenty to share.”

“Sounds good,” Even says. He glances over at the fridge, contemplatively, and Isak can’t take the betrayal much longer. Mumbling excuses, he beats a hasty retreat back to his cubicle. Jonas sees him approaching and wisely puts on his headphones.

Isak is not amused.

***

The next day, Isak comes into the office early and sets his plan in motion, putting his sandwich exactly where he told Even he would, and then retreating to his cubicle to work. He surprises himself by actually being productive, largely due to the fact that Jonas refuses to respond to anything involving the words ‘sandwich,’ ‘thief,’ or ‘Even.’

About half an hour before most of his colleagues leave for lunch, Isak heads to the breakroom to wait. And yes, hiding for thirty minutes in the shadows behind the fridge draped in Noora’s old blackout curtains and a ski mask is a perfectly reasonable response to sandwich theft, which Jonas would know if he ever bothered to listen to Isak. Isak’s fucking _hungry_ goddamit. 

Isak doesn’t have to wait long, because pretty soon Even comes into the breakroom, looking over his shoulder nervously. The guy couldn’t look more suspicious if he tried, and part of Isak feels really fucking validated (and a little relieved, because the curtains itch like nobody’s business), but a far larger part of him is… disappointed? Because up until now, Isak had hoped, had believed, that Even was really as sweet and kind and funny as he behaved. It really sucks, because Isak can’t just go out for coffee and give friendly blowjobs to lunch thieves. He has standards. And it would be bad workplace etiquette besides. 

So instead, Isak watches miserably as Even skulks over to the fridge and pulls out a container clearly labeled “Property of Isak Valtersen. If You Can Read This You Are TOO CLOSE” on it it bright red letters. He gives Even the benefit of the doubt, because maybe he’s moving the container to reach another one behind it, but when Even starts prying open the lid, Isak loses it. He jumps out from behind the fridge with a triumphant “Aha!,” startling Even so badly he sends the container flying.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Even asks, clutching his chest. 

“I could ask you the same question,” Isak responds. “Stealing my lunch again, you villain?”

“Stealing? You let me have your sandwich last time… didn’t you?” Even looks a bit affronted at Isak’s accusation, but also a little like Isak had just kicked his puppy. He’d totally be the type to have a puppy, Isak thinks. A golden retriever or something equally fluffy. 

“Yeah, I did,” Isak says, banishing all thoughts of Even and puppies from his mind before he succumbs to the hypothetical cuteness factor. “The first time. When you asked. So why did you keep stealing my lunches after that?”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Even says. “I haven’t touched your lunches.” He looks so honestly confused that Isak is inclined to believe him.

“Then what do you call this?” Isak says, with an expansive gesture meant to include the still-opened fridge, the container lying halfway across the room, and Even himself. 

“Well, technically, I’m not actually touching your sandwich,” Even points out.

Isak raises an eyebrow, unconvinced. Then, remembering that right, Even can’t actually see the Eyebrow of Skepticism through his ski mask, he pulls it off and tries again. This time, it has the desired effect of making Even look, if not repentant, at least a little cowed.

“I was just trying to be romantic and leave this note for you,” he says softly, handing over a piece of paper origami-folded into a slightly lopsided heart.

Isak unfolds the note numbly. His brain short-circuited at the word _romantic_ and has yet to recover. He glances down at the note and loses all functional brainpower yet again, because the note contains a drawing of two boys, one tall and lanky, the other wearing a chef hat, both eating a gigantic sandwich _Lady and the Tramp_ style. The caption reads “You. Me. 19:00?”

“Oh,” says Isak eloquently. 

“Oh?” Even echoes. 

“Oh,” Isak agrees, no less eloquently. 

“I could ‘oh’ back at you all day,” Even says, eyebrows raised in amusement, “but I’d really like an answer first.”

“Oh,” Isak says, one last time, just to be contrary. And then, “Yes. Obviously yes, you dork.”

The smile that lights up Even’s face is breathtaking. Isak could stare at it all day, and he would, except…

“Wait,” he says, a little breathless at the sudden world of possibility now open before him. “Would you call us friends?”

“Of course,” Even says easily.”

“Good friends?” Isak asks, a little more insistently this time.

“Um, yeah? At least, I’d like us to be?” Even answers, a little bemused. “Why?”

A slow grin breaks out across Isak’s face as he fists a hand in Even’s tie. Isak hopes the resounding kiss that follows is explanation enough. And if not, he has plans involving the supply closet down the hall that should show just how _friendly_ he plans to be. 

(They never do find out who’d been taking Isak’s sandwiches. After their third friendly supply closet run, Isak stops caring.)

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [Tumblr](http://www.shakespeare-and-sunshine.tumblr.com) :)


End file.
